


You’re Still the One

by laudatenium



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mission Fic, Misunderstandings, Tony thinks that because their sex lives have died down Steve wants to leave him, he panics accordingly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudatenium/pseuds/laudatenium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your sex god of a fiancé hasn't had sex with you in five days.  What do you do?</p>
<p>If you chose "cry a little while on a mission that if it goes wrong will kill literally everyone because you think he's going to leave you", you have chosen the Tony Stark option.  Poor choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You’re Still the One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liberalmage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberalmage/gifts).



> Title from “Still the One” by Orleans. Really, go listen to it. Relationship goals.
> 
> Written for the SteveTony Fest Gift Exchange (or whatever it's called) for [wadewihlson](http://wadewihlson.tumblr.com/), who wanted something shmoopy with misunderstandings. Which I can do.

The phone still said no messages.

 

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but the thing will vibrate if he sends you a text,” Rhodey grinned from the driver’s seat, cap pulled low over his brow.

 

Fuming, Tony shoved the damn thing in the pocket of the baggy, grease-stained Levis he’s put on as part of his disguise and rubbed and hand through his slightly overgrown beard.  “I would know, I designed the damn thing.”

 

“Perhaps the service here is crappy?” Natasha chimed in innocently from where she was crouched the back seat of the musty van they had “borrowed”.

 

“More than likely, but I’ve had to live for years with Tony saying how good him mobile service is.  Has it finally failed you, Tony?”

 

“Focus on the mission.”  Rhodey laughed, but buried it in a fake cough.  Gritting his teeth, Tony stared out the window, unseeing.

 

“Hey.”  A cold hand touched the nape of his neck, contrasting with the stuffy hot air of the van and making him jump.  “You sure you can handle this, Stark?”

 

Natasha only called him Stark when she was ribbing him or concerned.  “I’m fine, I’m fine.  Don’t you worry about little old me.”

 

“Nah, we leave Steve to do that,” Rhodey stated off-handedly, twisting around to search for the turn.  “Did I pass it?”

 

“GPS says it’s straight ahead.  It won’t be well marked, but we’ll figure it out.  Our only timeline is self-imposed.”  Natasha was gently stroking the bristly hairs on the back of his neck.  Trying to soothe him, but it was only setting him more on edge.

 

Rhodey hummed in agreement.  “True enough.  Though it will be better enough for all our sanities the sooner we shut this down.  Hey, QT has 79 cent drinks!  Wonder if the sale applies to slushes.”  He rolled his eyes at the silent looks of judgment.  “It’s _hot_.  We’re in _Georgia_.  This thing has no fucking AC.  I don’t do hot.  Well, I am hot, let’s face it, but I like the air to be 70 degrees and dry.”

 

“Maybe we can get one after we finish up,” Nat said in her best peacemaker voice, cool hand still stroking his hair.  “Right now, we need to focus on blending in.  And making sure smallpox doesn’t reemerge into the human population.”

 

“All I heard was ‘blending in’.  I think maintenance guys get snacks.  I’m stopping.”

 

“Rhodey –“ Natasha’s voice was full of warning, but Rhodey had already pulled into the gas station.  He pulled into a spot and cut the engine.  “I’m gettin’ a slushie.  Want one?”

 

Tony shock his head minutely.  “Cherry,” Nat requested.

 

“And if they don’t have cherry?”

 

“Fuck off, they always have some sort of cherry.”

 

Rhodey held up his hands in surrender.  “Yes, your imperial highness.”

 

They were quiet as Rhodey got out of the van and sauntered towards the door, holding it open for a little old Asian lady carrying an armload of Mexican bagged pastries.

 

“We’ll get this done, quick as we can.”  Natasha was draped over the back of his seat, still running her hands through his hair.  She had discovered years ago it turned him to putty.  Not today.  “It’ll go ten times as fast with you here.  We get the transmitter shut down, Steve can finish his mission, and in twelve hours you’ll be back at the Tower, with your fiancé, and you’ll be happy and back to your regular annoying self.”

 

“I wish,” he croaked, blinking harshly to stop his eyes from blurring.

 

She sighed heavily, and pressed her cheek to the top of his head.  “Whatever is going on in your head, it’s probably wrong.  Stop,” she ordered.

 

They sat like that for a few more minutes, waiting for Rhodey, who emerged with two slushes (black cherry for Nat, melon berry for himself) and blueberry donut holes for Tony.

 

“Our goal is fifty yards down the road,” Nat said around her red plastic straw.

 

“Now we’re talkin’,” Rhodey growled, threw the van into gear, and took a long draw from his violently pink slushie.

 

 

 

The site was . . . awful.  The transmitter was situated in the middle of what was probably intended to be the site of multiple industrial buildings, but looked much like a construction yard.  The ground was unlevel like a quarry, but with cracked umber clay instead of rock.  There were piles of rough granite boulders, and bits of quartz flecks glittered from the dusty dirt road in the evening sun, shining low through the pine trees.  Stacks of rusting rebar and bleached, warped wood lined the roadways, interspaced with cracked concrete chunks and brilliantly green weeds that shot up several feet.  There were several cranes and earthmovers sitting in amidst kudzu, and a defunct biodiesel plant.  The only sign of life was a couple of trailers tethered together towards the back of the lot, were a light was shining through one of the windows.

 

“Why would anyone hide anything here?  I’ve seen things in the desert, Siberian forests, fucking under the sea.  Why suburban Atlanta?”

 

“CDC,” was all Rhodey said.

 

“You’ll have to say, it was smart to have it here.  This is the closet RF tower to the Centers for Disease Control.  They have moles working there, who have coded all the canisters where they keep the old diseases.  You understand it better than I.  But from what Steve and Sam have gathered, they are at the point where they just send the signal from their site in the Sierra Navadas, it gets picked up through satellite, and gets put through this site, where it produces the frequency that would unlock the sealed specimens and release them before they can achieve lock down.  It gets to the airport, it goes international.  Smallpox, bubonic plague, everything.”

 

“Nasty,” Tony muttered.  “Why not just build a bomb?”

 

“Cause we can find a bomb.  The CDC just sits there, and everyone knows.  It is the deadliest building in the world.  And by the time anyone could discover the outbreak, it would be too late.  Masses of people would die.  And AIM can just sit in their bunkers while the world turns to shit.”

 

“This is why I hate them,” Rhodey groused as he turned down the short access road that led to the chain link fence that guarded the base of the 1500 foot tower and the two-story service building.  The fence was guarded by key card access, but Rhodey just rolled down the window and waved a short-wave RF scrambler in front of the pad.  A siren buzzed, and the fence began to roll back, adding the jangle of the metal to the din of the warning siren.

 

“Could we be any more conspicuous?” Tony whined.

 

Nat just shushed him.

 

They pulled though, the fence buzzing and jangling as it closed.  They pulled in next to a lonely 1996 Jetta on the gravel yard.  Silently now, the three double-checked their equipment and exited the van, Rhodey looking longingly at his half-finished slushie.

 

The door was locked, of course, with key card or number pad access.  The 2, 7, 9, and asterisk were worn down, but Rhodey just waved the RF scrambler again instead of playing the guessing game.

 

The lock made a decent clunk as it slid back, emitting them into a hallway partially lit with florescent lights.  The doors were grey, the walls a lighter grey, and Tony wanted to vomit.

 

“Hello?”  One of the doors was propped open with a fire extinguisher, emitting the sounds of a ball game.  A man in a sweat-drenched tee shirt and a shining bald patch popped his head out.

 

“Hey, we’re from Richland.  Just an unannounced inspection.  Nothing to worry about,” Tony breezed, pitching his lower and making sure his cap covered his eyes.

 

The man narrowed his beady eyes.  “They usually send three of you?”

 

“Does your boss not think you’re capable enough handle routine shit on your own?” Tony shot back.  Rhodey and Nat made noises of agreement.

 

“Fuck, they got me here, and Barry and Tom back at the station.  Terry’s on call.  They don’t trust us to keep a lousy live signal?”  The man snorted, eyes drifting back to his monitors.  “Be my guest.  You’re not shutting anything off, are ya?  My supervisor will have my balls if we lose signal in the middle of a live game.”

 

“No, no intention of shutting anything off, but if it does, blame us.”

 

The engineer nodded, digging a Twizzler out of his pocket.  “Call if you need any help,” he said in a way they better not need any, and rolled his chair back to his screens.

 

“Let’s get this over with,” Tony growled, and marched down the desolate hall towards the door marked with the appropriate station.

 

 

 

“Tony, you’re shaking,” Nat murmured, putting a hand on his elbow.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“Just . . . don’t feel good.  Got a bug.”

 

She stared at him, her green eyes like x-rays.  Some people thought Nat’s strength lied in her thighs, which wasn’t so.  She could read people as easily as her crappy romance novels.  She’d know and worked with Tony for years.  She always knew when something was up.

 

A particularly large clang issued from the transponder outside of the office, followed by a series of swears.  “You don’t see Rhodey fussing over me, do you?”

 

Nat sighed, and moved a precariously balanced pile of papers and sat at the end of the desk Tony was working from.  The computers were from the mid 2000’s, took ages to load, but were horrible for a modern hacker because of how incompatible the systems were.  So here he was, wiping the programs by hand while Rhodey tried to find the specific wavelength’s receiver and yank it out.  With Nat staring into his soul.

 

“Rhodey likes to get the important shit out of the way before dealing with whatever emotional constipation you’re going through.  Second we clear this place, he’ll be on you like wolves on a sheep carcass.”

 

“Why’d you come, anyway?  Me and Rhodey got this, not like Billy Bob back there’s gonna take us.”

 

“No.  But you’ve been . . . off, recently.  What’s wrong, Tony?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, too forcefully.  He jabbed at the keyboard.  “Everything is fine and dandy in Stark-land, never been better . . . .”

 

“Is this because of the whole pre-nup thing?”

 

Didn’t Tony _wish_ it was the pre-nup thing.  “No.  I mean, we’ve put the plans on hold until we get it sorted out.  Steve’s not . . . they did have pre-nups back then.  And I didn’t really look at the document before we were gonna sign it . . . .”

 

Nat balanced on the edge of her chair.  “Did you give specifics on what to include?”

 

Tony winced.  “Not . . . exactly?  I just had them give us a standard agreement?  And Steve saw the requirements for diet and sex and the words ‘separation’ and ‘divorce’ were thrown around a lot . . . .   He got . . . upset.  Like it expected us to get divorced.  And well, the board won’t let us just get married without making sure he can’t take over and well, I don’t know what to do.”

 

Nat put a hand on his shoulder.  “That’s what’s bothering Steve.  Now tell me what’s bothering _you_.”

 

“Can we not do this here?  Now?  With –“ Damnit, Tony couldn’t breathe.  “With the lives of seven billion at stake?”

 

She backed off.  “I’ll go see if Rhodey needs help.”  Nat dissipated from the room silently.

 

Tony buried his head in his hands.

 

Five days.  It has been five days.

 

Five days without sex is not something most people would worry about.  Especially not single people.  And people in regular relationships?  Sex once a week is nothing to sneeze at.

 

But most people weren’t in a relationship with a man who as a side effect of genetic modification had an untamable libido.  Steve had been out West for two days, but the night before he left . . . he hadn’t _done_ anything.  Just held Tony, kissed his head, and went to sleep.

 

It was worrisome, to say the least.  The silver band on his finger wasn’t a legally binding contract.  When they’d started planning the wedding, Tony’s lawyers had descended, demanding pre-nups and contracts.  Steve had turned green reading the papers.  So wedding planning was currently on hold.

 

Steve had been distracted the past few weeks, spending long hours studying intel, going on recon missions with Sam and Nat and Bucky.  When he was home, he slept.

 

And now Steve seemed to losing interest in sex.

 

He still kissed Tony like normal, and didn’t really seem to consciously pulling away . . . but the subconscious was a powerful thing.

 

Maybe Steve had fallen out of love with him.

 

Tony loved Steve more than anything.  It had terrified him to become so attached, but now it terrified him to let go.

 

He let out an involuntary shudder, then to his horror, a sob.

 

“Tony, you done with wiping it down – Tony!”  Rhodey rushed over.  “Breathe, just breathe, buddy.  Nat, ‘s there anything to drink?”

 

Nat scavenged up a couple of cans of ginger ale and a Hawaiian Punch in the dinky mini fridge.  Rhodey opened a ginger ale and set it by the key board.  Together, they eased Tony back in the office chair, with Rhodey massaging his shoulders and Nat gently rubbing his temples.

 

“C’mon, Tony, talk to me.  What’s been eating you?  We got you.”

 

His mouth felt like cotton.  “Steve . . . Steve doesn’t _want_ me anymore.”

 

Silence, then: “Oh Tony.”

 

“Tones, as much as I love you, I gotta say: you can really be the biggest idiot sometimes.”

 

 

 

Tony sat on their bed, curled in on himself.  Waiting.

 

After they had disabled the transmitters for the CDC, Nat had slunk about putting up surveillance equipment throughout the facility while Rhodey had sat with Tony in the van, plying him with donut holes as he nursed his watery slushie.  When Nat finished her sweep, she’d sent a message to Bucky, telling them they could proceed with their destruction.  Tony had begged to be allowed to contact Steve himself, but Nat and Rhodey just shut him down.

 

“You two need to talk.  _In person,”_ was her reason.

 

They’d been halfway back to New York when the transmission came through that the guys had successfully blown up the Sierra Nevada base and would be home late.  So Tony had curled up on their bed, waiting.  Rhodey sat with him, tried to force some food into Tony and went over his paperwork, but had eventually headed to his own quarters for a rest.

 

Steve was already wearing sweats and a tee shirt when he strolled in at eleven, scrubbing his damp hair from the showers.

 

“Hello, sweetheart.  Mission was boring.  Bucky and Sam listened to me, imagine that.  Missed you ignoring my orders.”  Steve tried for a smile.

 

“Right,” Tony whispered, voice thick in his ears.

 

Steve approached the bed, wariness in his eyes.  “Are you . . . okay?  Nat told be you had . . . bit of a . . . break, on your part of the mission.  Do we need to talk?”

 

He found himself blurting.

 

“Five days.  It’s been five days.”

 

“Since we’ve had sex.  Yeah.  Sorry about that.”  Steve strolled over to the bureau, rubbing a rapidly-fading bruise on his neck.  “But I don’t know about you, but I’ve just been exhausted these past few days.  They’re running me ragged, with the whole CDC thing, and you know Hydra never really dies.  Guess I need to start burning everyone that I take down, hmmm?”  He grinned tiredly at Tony, then his face fell.  “What’s wrong?  Tony.”

 

“Steve, we haven’t had sex in _five days_.”

 

“I know.  Tony, what’s this about?”

 

Tony shifted restlessly.  “Do you not . . . are you not . . . _interested_ anymore?”

 

Steve stared at him.  “Not interested . . . ?” he muttered bewilderedly, then a look of troubled understanding crossed his face.  “You think our sex life slowing down means our relationship is in trouble?”

 

He nodded miserably.  Steve sighed and sat down by Tony’s knees, and took his hands.  “Tony, be honest with me.  Why are we in a relationship?”

 

“Because – because we’re in love!  Because I don’t want to be with anyone but you.  I want to annoy you for the rest of my life.”

 

“You don’t want to marry me because you like to have sex with me?”

 

“Are you _nuts_?  I mean I do, love to have sex with you, but it’s not the only thing . . . .”  Steve was smiling lightly, nodding.  “ . . . I love you.  Everything kind of stems from that.”

 

Steve shifted their hands so that he was running his thumb over the ring.  “It’s common for sex-lives to dry up after a year or two.  Just the way it works.  We’ve had a lot of Avengers business recently.  And we’re not exactly young, are we?  We’re settled in our relationship, Tony.  We love each other and can figure out our problems when they arise, _healthily._   We’re both committed to making this work.  When the lust fades, is the love and commitment still there?”

 

Tony nodded miserably, feeling like an idiot.  Steve held out an arm, and Tony crawled in, tucking himself along Steve’s body.  Very gently, Steve began to rock them slightly, humming as he placed a gentle kiss on Tony’s temple.  “I might have . . . over thought it.”

 

Steve’s chuckle reverberated through his spine.  “Yeah, but that’s you.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

Staring into Steve’s dopey-eyed expression, which he was undoubtedly mirroring, Tony was overcome with a desire to do nothing except keep this man with him for the rest of his life.  “Fuck it.  We’re not gonna get divorced.  Screw the pre-nup, and let’s go get married.”

 

He tried to hide it, but Steve was obviously pleased.  “As much as it means to me, I don’t want to cause issues with your company.   But can we get rid of all the clauses about fitness and sex and vacations?  And I don’t want your company.  I want _you_.”

 

“So, basically sign off on any claim on SI in the event of a divorce?  Not that it will happen.”

 

“If it makes it easier, just a piece of paper that says ‘I, Steve Rogers, do so solemnly promise that I am after Tony Stark for his heart, not his coffers.’  I don’t really care if either of us gains a little weight.”

 

“Speak for yourself, Abs-donis,” Tony muttered, poking the abs in question and wringing a chuckle of Steve.

 

“And sex . . . Tony, we’re not always going to be up for it.  We live very stressful lives, we get hurt, sometimes we’re apart for weeks at a time.  When we first got together, all I wanted was to fuck you silly when I got home, but now . . . I miss you, not the sex.  I wanna cuddle you and hear you run your mouth.  I like sex, but I love you.  Make sense?”

 

“No, but I’m still confused as to why you asked me to marry you.  But I’m not gonna just let you go, either.”  Tony burrowed deeper into Steve’s embrace.

 

“We’re gonna need to work on these trust issues.”

 

“Underway.  But I’m messed up.  ‘s gonna take a while.”  He stifled a yawn.

 

“Bedtime,” Steve murmured, pulling them down onto the bed.

 

“Nooo, this is the part where we have sweaty, love-affirming sex.”  He yawned again.

 

“We’ll both be here tomorrow.  Can I just hold you for now?”

 

Tony’s eyes were already drifting close.  “If you insist.  And we’ll get married tomorrow?  After sex?”

 

Steve smiled into his hair.  “If you insist.”

**Author's Note:**

> Andthentheygotmarriedandwereadorableandshittheend.
> 
> And I still wait patiently for movie terrorists to target the CDC.


End file.
